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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666158">you have been weighed in the balance (and found wanting)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarHighs/pseuds/SugarHighs'>SugarHighs</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you are the cause of my euphoria [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Atsumu is dense as hell, Canon Compliant, Falling In Love, Getting Together, I want to date someone like Sakusa in this one, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Pining, Post-Time Skip, Rated T because Atsumu has a potty mouth, Sakusa does modelling in this one</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:08:21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,527</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26666158</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SugarHighs/pseuds/SugarHighs</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sakusa casts one last suspicious look towards Atsumu, before jogging off. Atsumu lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.</p><p>Even he is not that dense in the face of these glaringly obvious symptoms. Atsumu pulls up Google again, and looks up “Exorcists near me”.</p><p>-</p><p>Sakusa's latest ad campaign and a series of dreams send Atsumu off on a very necessary spiral.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>you are the cause of my euphoria [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1974688</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>47</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1072</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>you have been weighed in the balance (and found wanting)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Atsumu's not perfect, but he's never really felt lonely, or like he was missing something, until he does. He doesn't expect that realisation to come in a dream about Sakusa Kiyoomi in nothing but a Starbucks apron and thigh high boots in a zombie apocalypse, of all things.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When he gets back to Osaka after the New Year holiday, Atsumu definitely does not expect to be greeted by a hundred Sakusas glaring down at him.</p><p> </p><p>At first, he thought he was still dreaming. For some reason, his cold, prickly teammate had featured heavily in his dreams as of late, whether it was just a fleeting encounter, or if Sakusa was an extremely sexy barista that Atsumu had befriended during a zombie apocalypse. Atsumu didn’t know where that one came from, but after that particular dream, he’d been unable to meet Sakusa’s eyes for the next few training sessions, unable to get rid of the image of Sakusa in nothing but a Starbucks apron seared behind his eyelids.</p><p> </p><p>The holiday couldn’t have come at a better timing. After bidding the rest of his teammates a hasty goodbye, Atsumu had hopped on the first train back home and turned his phone off for the whole week. He had busied himself with helping his mother around the house, sneaking in a few moments to mercilessly heckle Osamu and his long-time boyfriend while they cast lovey-dovey looks at each other when they thought no one was looking. While ‘Samu responded adequately by chucking the nearest object at Atsumu’s head, Suna just smirked knowingly at him, which was. Incredibly infuriating. No, Atsumu was not lonely. No, he does not need Osamu to set him up with the cute waiter at Onigiri Miya’s Tokyo branch, thank you very much. Atsumu was doing perfectly fine as Japan’s second most eligible bachelor (courtesy of some teen magazine), and really, if you think about it, he was doing the world a favour by staying single.</p><p> </p><p>With all these compelling reasons, one could say that Atsumu is at his peak. Apart from the whole Sakusa dreams thing, which had lessened somewhat during the break, there was nothing between him and crushing the rest of their competition in the new season. Which brings him to his current predicament.</p><p> </p><p>He switches on his phone, and watches as thousands of messages pour in (Bokuto had apparently thought it was necessary to vlog his holiday with his boyfriend from start to finish, and the Black Jackals group chat was not spared). He opens his chat with Osamu without a glance at the rest of his messages, and, under the gaze of the nearest Sakusa (on a banner above the exit of the train station), types, <em>can u accompany me to the doctor tmr I think I have a brain problem</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Osamu’s reply came immediately. <em>lmao we been knew tho</em>.</p><p> </p><p>In the cab to his apartment, he decides that he isn’t in some sort of fever dream, and belatedly remembers Shouyou gushing over Sakusa’s latest ad in the locker room shortly before the winter break. Atsumu loves the guy, but sometimes his brain has to automatically switch off around him so as not to bear the full impact of his chattering, hurtling towards the nearest pair of ears at breakneck speed. </p><p> </p><p>The ad in question features Japan’s number one most eligible bachelor looking down at the residents of Osaka from billboards and on every single bus stop as they go about their day, his marble countenance graced by a smirk. Which is, as everyone who’s ever interacted with Sakusa knows, one of his only three facial expressions, the other two being mild irritation and extreme disgust. In light of this, it’s a wonder how so many brands literally fall over themselves trying to get Sakusa to model for them. Probably has something to do with how, even from 20 feet above, Sakusa’s eyes seem to bore deep into the souls of everyone who looks up at him, regardless of whichever angle you were looking from, like the Mona Lisa painting Atsumu once saw on a trip to Europe, or how Sakusa’s skin is so perfect and unblemished it was unfair, or the way his curls tumbled over his forehead, or something.</p><p> </p><p>Or something. Atsumu blinks, and suddenly becomes aware that he’s gotten off the cab and has been standing in front of his apartment block, gripping his suitcase handle, for the past few minutes. Passersby were throwing him weird looks, so Atsumu hurries inside. <em>Maybe I actually need a doctor</em>, he thinks.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu’s in a park. Not anywhere in Japan, he thinks. It’s lush and blooming with strangely colourful flowers, and framed with skyscrapers on all sides. When he leans in to sniff a blue rose, he thinks it reminds him of disinfectant.</p><p> </p><p>There’s a clearing down the path, and he can see people gathering there. Curiosity kills the proverbial cat, but since Atsumu has a death wish, he heads towards it. The faces in the crowd are familiar and strange at the same time. He can’t make out any discernible features in them, but he gets the feeling he’s supposed to know them but has forgotten their names. Something draws him into the heart of the crowd like a magnet and he surges in, moving against his own will, and stops right at the base of a giant marble pedestal in the middle of the clearing.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu looks up, and the sun dazzles his eyes. He’s blinded for a beat or two, then he squints and sees a lone figure standing on top of the pedestal, almost miles above the rest of these insignificant mortals. Atsumu knows in his bones that it’s Sakusa standing casually on the marble column, hands shoved in his pockets. He’s surveying the ground disdainfully, like an angel looking down from Heaven. Not the cheerful, greeting card-type cherubs- the avenging angels who wear halos and wield blades of fire.</p><p> </p><p>He’s dressed casually in streetwear, which Atsumu has only seen him in a handful of times. Black turtleneck and immaculately tailored black slacks, with a tan coat blowing in the wind. Somewhere between graduating from high school in that god-awful neon Itachiyama jacket and college, Sakusa seems to have gained some semblance of taste, which is, as Bokuto puts it so eloquently, expensive as fuck. Atsumu feels shabby in his t-shirt and jeans, but he waves up at Sakusa anyway.</p><p> </p><p>“Omi-omi!” he shouts. “Omi-kun!”</p><p> </p><p>Statue Sakusa draws his hand out his pockets, and flings what looks like gold dust on the crowd assembled at the base of the pedestal. The crowd starts chanting, as one. “Sakusa! Sakusa! Sakusa!” Statue Sakusa gives them a beatific smile, the upward pull of his lips and the flash of white teeth foreign to Atsumu, looking at all these nameless faces but Atsumu’s.</p><p> </p><p>“Kiyoomi!” he yells again, valiantly. His voice is drowned out, and he feels himself getting desperate. “Sakusa!”</p><p> </p><p>Dead silence. And then Statue Sakusa’s gaze alights on him, and he feels like a victim of a modern-day Medusa, the blood in his veins solidifying. He can’t breathe. Then the whole crowd turn their eyes on him, and they’re all Sakusa too, wearing different clothes and different skins but they’re all Sakusa. The screens on all the skyscrapers surrounding the park have flickered and changed to display images of Sakusa, and Atsumu suddenly realises that he can’t open his mouth to speak, and he feels bile rise in his throat and panic rise over his head like a wave. The ground opens up beneath his feet.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Practice the next day is grueling. Atsumu’s put on a few pounds over the week, so he’s struggling to keep up with the pack as they go through their morning drills.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto jogs past him on their laps and turns around so he’s jogging backwards, somehow managing to speak at full blast even while doing so. “TSUM TSUM. WHY THE LONG FACE. ALSO, DID YOU SEE MY VLOG WITH KEIJI.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu grimaces as he clutches at a stitch in his side. “Who didn’t, Bokkun?” he huffs, choosing to ignore the first question.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m being serious, dude. You look pale as fuck.” Bokuto may not be the brightest bulb in the room, but the guy is strangely perceptive. Atsumu lets out another irritated puff of air, and mumbles something about not having exercised for a week. Bokuto doesn’t look convinced, but jogs off nevertheless, moving on to pounce on an unsuspecting Meian.</p><p> </p><p>The truth is, Atsumu had woken up at five in the morning, wide-eyed and panting. This dream was unlike the rest, with Sakusa at the centre of it rather than as a mere supporting character. He’d been unable to go back to sleep, and lay awake as the rising sun painted his room in hues of yellow- soft hues, unlike that ugly Itachiyama jacket Sakusa wore in high school.</p><p> </p><p>He pulls out his phone during the next water break, towel draped over his head and shoulders so no one can see him Googling “what does it mean to dream of someone all the time”. The results are entirely unhelpful and untrue, because Atsumu definitely doesn’t desire Sakusa, so he types “how to stop dreaming of someone” instead, but before he can press search, he feels a weight settle down on the bench next to him, and a familiar voice drones, “Sorry I’m late, my train just arrived this morning.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu pulls off the towel in shock. Sakusa is sitting next to him, pulling on a knee guard and carefully folding his surgical mask into a little pouch. Shouyou and Bokuto’s excited exclamations about Sakusa’s latest ad campaign fade into the background as Atsumu continues to stare open-mouthed at Sakusa. Did he just manifest Sakusa by thinking about him? Is this Sakusa even real?</p><p> </p><p>“What’s wrong with you?” Real Sakusa is looking at him strangely, and Atsumu can’t blame him. He decides he likes Real Sakusa better than billboard Sakusa, because Real Sakusa only glares down at him from a few centimeters above eye level. Also, he can smell the faint scent of Sakusa’s antibacterial soap, and he weirdly likes the smell of it.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu belatedly remembers that Sakusa is still waiting for an answer. “Unh,” he says intelligently.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa stares at him some more, and Atsumu squirms under his steely gaze. Up close, he realises that Sakusa’s eyes aren’t black but a deep, deep brown, like the espresso he has to drink every morning to wake up, or the fresh soil he used to dig into in his grandmother’s backyard as a child. Honestly, Atsumu could have stayed there all day making shitty metaphors about Sakusa’s face in general, but then Coach Foster calls Sakusa over to do his warm-ups. Sakusa casts one last suspicious look towards Atsumu, before jogging off. Atsumu lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.</p><p> </p><p>Even <em>he</em> is not that dense in the face of these glaringly obvious symptoms. Atsumu pulls up Google again, and looks up “Exorcists near me”.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Osamu calls him after his third consecutive night of Sakusa-induced nightmares.</p><p> </p><p>“What’s up?” Atsumu’s phone is clamped to his ear as he nearly breaks the controller on his Nintendo, jamming his fingers into the buttons furiously. On the monitor, Princess Peach knocks Bokuto’s custom character off the racetrack, resulting in an offended screech from the latter. He sticks his tongue out at Bokuto as his car races past the finish line. He doesn’t mind being eleventh place, because the number eleven has two ones in it instead of one, so Atsumu considers it a double win.</p><p> </p><p>“I think I should be the one asking that question.” Osamu’s tone is full of suppressed mirth. Atsumu’s eyes narrow as he tosses the controller to Shouyou and backs out of Bokuto and Akaashi’s living room. The team is gathered at Bokuto’s apartment for their weekly gaming session, sans Adriah, who has a date, and Sakusa, who refuses to enter Bokuto’s apartment on the assessment of his usual hygiene in the locker room.</p><p> </p><p>“What are you trying to say.” Atsumu leans against the wall and stares at an abstract painting hanging in the hallway. Apparently Akaashi collects weird art from every country he visits, which is in line with Atsumu’s prevailing theory that every pretty guy has some sort of shtick. </p><p> </p><p>Osamu sniggers uncontrollably, and Atsumu hears Suna’s long-suffering sigh in the background before he hears Suna’s monotone voice down the line. “What does it mean to dream of someone all the time. How to stop dreaming of someone. Exorcists near me. Sakusa Kiyoomi demon theory. Sakusa Kiyoomi alien theory. How to tell when aliens are probing your brain-”</p><p> </p><p>“Fine, fine, I get it!” Atsumu whisper-shouts into the phone. He wants to throttle something, preferably his brother’s neck, but he settles for wrapping his hands around an expensive looking vase instead, clamping his phone between his ear and his shoulder. “How did you know?”</p><p> </p><p>“You didn’t sign out of your account when you borrowed my laptop last week, idiot,” Osamu says gleefully. Atsumu smacks his forehead in frustration. “So what’s the deal with you and Sakusa-san, huh?”</p><p> </p><p>“There’s no deal,” Atsumu grumbles. “I just think he’s some kinda alien, or somethin’. I’ve been havin’ nightmares, and he always seems to be in them.”</p><p> </p><p>Osamu is silent for a few beats. “Remember when you teased me about Rin in third year? Consider this payback.” Osamu only gets in another whooping laugh, before Atsumu ends the call by throwing his phone onto the floor. Not the wall, because he knows that Akaashi would have his head before he’s out the door if he dents it. He picks his phone up to find a text from his brother. <em>u should talk to him tho</em>.</p><p> </p><p>Fuck that. Atsumu really needs to start using incognito mode. He returns to the living room, where the game has been paused. Barnes and Inunaki are helping Akaashi set the table for dinner, while Meian is on his phone on the balcony. Shouyou and Bokuto are poring over a magazine on the floor. Atsumu joins them.</p><p> </p><p>Bokuto shoves the magazine in Atsumu’s face. “We found Sakkun in Vogue!” Atsumu peels the magazine off his face, and comes face to face with a blown-up photo of Sakusa’s face across a spread. Emblazoned beside him are the words “JAPAN’S RISING STAR”.</p><p> </p><p>“It’s an interview with Omi-san!” Shouyou resumes reading the article excitedly. “Look, it says that his favourite food is umeboshi!”</p><p> </p><p>“It feels a bit weird that we’re reading this about someone we actually know,” Atsumu says, scratching the back of his neck. Shouyou and Bokuto’s gazes snap towards him simultaneously. They both have huge, luminous eyes, and even though Atsumu knows he’s the number one setter in Japan (fuck you, Tobio-kun) he feels a little like a prey being hunted down by wolves. “Besides, who doesn’t know that Omi-omi likes umeboshi? He eats it every day after practice as a snack.”</p><p> </p><p>“We don’t,” Bokuto and Shouyou chorus. They are truly master and disciple, Atsumu thinks, right down to how they sometimes seem to share a brain cell. He says brain cell and not brain because he’s seen Bokuto has put on his shirt inside out one too many times for him to believe that Bokuto functions on anything more than a brain cell and Red Bull. “But then again, we aren’t as close to Omi-san as you are!” Shouyou says cheerfully.</p><p> </p><p>“We’re not close,” Atsumu protests.</p><p> </p><p>“You toss to Sakkun loads more than me or Shouyou or Barnes in practice,” Bokuto pouts, which looks ridiculous against his massive frame. The sleeves of his shirt are literally bursting. Bokuto’s everything is huge (he means Everything, because Atsumu has seen some shit in the locker rooms), which is probably ideal for the likes of Akaashi Keiji, but Atsumu himself prefers lean frames. Finely cut along the edges, like Sakusa’s. “Keiji did that loads too, back in high school!”</p><p> </p><p>“Tobio did that too! I remember Daichi-san always had to remind him to toss to Asahi-san.” Shouyou is an angel, but Atsumu knows he can’t pass up on this golden opportunity to bring in his boyfriend. Well, not quite boyfriend yet, but everyone in the V League and their mother knew Shouyou is obsessed with the densest setter in Division 1. Atsumu snorts internally. Tobio-kun’s sets might be sharp as hell, but no one can say the same for his brain.</p><p> </p><p>“POINT IS,” Bokuto announces. Atsumu cringes, but miraculously no one pays them any mind. “Sakkun likes you way more than the rest of us! So I think it’s normal for him to be a little upset, y’know, because you’ve been ignoring him the past week.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu likes to watch animal documentaries sometimes when he can’t sleep. He’s inexplicably reminded of one show when a cute, fluffy otter suddenly unhinged its mouth to give a fanged snarl toward the camera. Bokuto is a sweetheart and a goofball when it came down to it, but sometimes he makes shockingly astute observations that leaves his unsuspecting victims reeling. Atsumu thinks it’s a side effect of living with Akaashi.</p><p> </p><p>“I haven’t been ignoring him,” Atsumu says weakly.</p><p> </p><p>Even Shouyou teams up against him on this. “You don’t toss to him as much anymore!” he proclaims, if only because Shouyou’s learned to measure affection by the number of tosses setters give to spikers. Which is a fair assumption, since Kageyama does indeed like Shouyou, not that he’d point this out to him. He wants to watch Kageyama squirm a little more, anyway. The guy’s got enough good things going for him- he can take a bit more of Atsumu’s loneliness-induced sadism.</p><p> </p><p>“And you used to always ask him questions, like real personal questions. Sakkun doesn’t show it, but I think he misses them!” Bokuto points the finger of God at Atsumu. “So you better fix whatever spat you got soon, because we have some games to win!”</p><p> </p><p>Shouyou cheers in assent, and Atsumu hangs his head so he meets the gaze of magazine Sakusa, looking up at him from the carpeted floor. His gaze taunts Atsumu. <em>What are you going to do about it, then?</em></p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu’s on the court again, which is usually a good start to things.</p><p> </p><p>It must be late at night, because it’s dark out, but he knows deep in his bones that it’s the sun he sees hanging in the sky, not the moon. The Mikasa volleyballs at his feet are purple and orange instead of red and green or blue and yellow, and he knows this isn’t the Jackals’ gym. The white tape on the floor suggests this is a badminton court, not a volleyball court, but when in Rome…</p><p> </p><p>He picks up one and starts his run into a jump serve, but when he jumps his hand doesn’t swing up to hit it automatically. The ball plops onto the ground and bounces off. He picks up another. This time, the ball doesn’t leave his hand.</p><p> </p><p>Volleyball has always felt natural to Atsumu. Not when he tries out fancy new serves or anything, but once he nails something down, it’s as easy as breathing. So he screams in frustration when the third ball he picks up feels as heavy as a lead sphere, and he barely lifts it off the ground before it slips from his hands. <em>Don’t leave me</em>, he says to the volleyball at his feet, and picks it up. <em>I don’t have anything else</em>. The volleyball starts blurring around the edges, dissolving into mist.</p><p> </p><p>“Calm down.” Suddenly there are a pair of smooth, pale hands over his to accompany that apathetic, indifferent voice, and he feels Sakusa behind him, lifting the volleyball out of his hands. “You serve to me, and I’ll get it.”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa- dressed in volleyball attire this time, but in an Inarizaki jersey, which is just unfairly hot- positions himself across the net. Atsumu gingerly picks up another ball, and goes in for another serve. In midair, the purple and orange change to blue and yellow, and it lands soundly with a satisfying smack on Sakusa’s arms, and flies back across the net. Sakusa materializes beside him and snatches the ball out of its midair path towards Atsumu’s face.</p><p> </p><p>“See,” Dream Sakusa says, “It’s easy.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>“You look like shit,” Real Sakusa (or was it?) says.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu stares at him, firstly because he’s still trying to figure out if this Sakusa is real or whether he’d somehow fallen asleep on the locker room bench. Secondly, because Sakusa never talks to him without being sufficiently provoked by Atsumu first.</p><p> </p><p>He blinks and realises the locker room is empty apart from the two of them. Practice has ended, he remembers, and he’s been waiting for the showers to empty out so he can take as long as he likes in there. Shower time is Atsumu’s reflection time, where he obsesses over every little thing he did that he’s internally cringed at that day, from a fumbled greeting at the coffee shop he goes to every morning to laughing a little too loudly at someone’s fumbled pass.</p><p> </p><p>Apparently, he’s lost track of time. “The janitors are locking up soon,” Sakusa says, his dark eyes unreadable.</p><p> </p><p>“Thanks, Omi-omi,” Atsumu says quietly, before hastily grabbing his towel and heading for the showers.</p><p> </p><p>When he gets out, he’s surprised to see Sakusa still there, scrolling through his phone idly. Atsumu feels inexplicably self-conscious as he changes into fresh clothes, even though he does this in a room full of guys on a daily basis. And it’s not even that his body is bad, or anything. He knows he’s got a great ass. But he changes as fast as he can without tripping on his pants. That’s the last thing he needs today, so obviously that happens, but Sakusa doesn’t notice or just doesn’t bring it up. Small mercies, Atsumu thinks.</p><p> </p><p>He slams his locker shut and slings his duffel bag over his shoulder, and Sakusa stands and puts his phone away, like he’s been waiting. Atsumu doesn’t really know what to say about that, so he doesn’t say anything as he and Sakusa walk out into the cold evening air.</p><p> </p><p>It’s when they’re waiting at a pedestrian crossing when Sakusa breaks the silence. Another first. “What did I do?”</p><p> </p><p>The question catches Atsumu off guard. He stares at Sakusa, who doesn’t move, even when the pedestrian light turns green in Atsumu’s peripheral vision. He looks back at Atsumu steadily.</p><p> </p><p>“Nothin’?” The pedestrian light starts blinking furiously before it turns red, and then the cars behind Sakusa rush forward.</p><p> </p><p>The night is clear, so if Atsumu squints he can make out a couple of stars past the fog of the city’s pollution. Despite it being dinnertime, the sidewalks are relatively free of people. The Jackals’ gym is not quite in the office district, yet not quite in the residential district, so there are only a few shops open at this hour. Their fluorescent signboards form part of the tableau Atsumu and Sakusa star in, the world stopping with them as they stare at each other.</p><p> </p><p>“So why do you keep avoiding me?”</p><p> </p><p>Lying to Sakusa is pointless. Atsumu thinks he has some kind of built-in bullshit detector, because Atsumu will try to bluff and dodge his way around other people, but not Sakusa. So he goes for the most honest answer he can give. “I think I forgot how to talk to you.”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu waits for Sakusa to tell him that that’s stupid, you can’t possibly forget how to open your mouth and speak to someone, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Sakusa folds his long, freaky fingers together delicately before speaking again.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s alright.” Atsumu thinks all this eye contact from Sakusa is going to kill him. “But we have a few important matches coming up. What can I do to fix it?”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa is cold and unfeeling, so a lot of players on other teams have labelled him things like “arrogant” and standoffish and think that Atsumu must be a great setter to give him exactly the kind of tosses he wants. But Atsumu knows Sakusa is also ridiculously unassuming, pushing himself to the limits and demanding more of himself before he demands more of others. Of course, he would ask if he could fix something that is inherently Atsumu’s problem.</p><p> </p><p>That’s what Atsumu should have said, but since he doubts he’s ever done anything good in his past life or this one, what comes out of his stupid mouth is “Do ya wanna go for dinner?”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa turns away and starts crossing the road even though the pedestrian light hasn’t lighted up, and Atsumu is mentally prepared to hand in his resignation from the Jackals tomorrow when Sakusa turns back to look at him. “Are you coming?”</p><p> </p><p>So maybe he’s done one good thing. Atsumu scrambles after him.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>The ramen place Sakusa chooses is quiet and nondescript, tucked in some alley. Honestly, the whole way here, Atsumu half suspects that Sakusa actually plans to kill him where there are no roadside cameras to catch him disposing of his body. But he’s here, all his body parts are intact, and Sakusa’s spraying the table and seats in their assigned booth with his travel-sized disinfectant spray.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu knows it’s a lot, Sakusa agreeing to come to dinner with him. He doesn’t even go out to dinner with the team after celebrations, probably because the nights more often than not end up with Inunaki drunkenly challenging Bokuto to another arm wrestling tournament, and then the rest of the team having to comfort him by pretending to lose to him one by one. Also because bars and pubs and restaurants in general are pretty much breeding grounds for germs and disease, which Sakusa hates.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa orders his ramen with an onsen egg but no meat, which somehow doesn’t surprise Atsumu, who goes for the largest bowl they have with extra chashu pork and dumplings on the side. He’s starving, so it’s only when they’re midway into their bowls that Atsumu speaks.</p><p> </p><p>“So, do ya come here often?” He doesn’t have time to hate himself about how much it sounds like some pickup line, because Sakusa’s already furrowing his brow in thought. <em>That’s four facial expressions</em>, he thinks, and then feels beholden that he gets to see this one first. Beholden, and then possessive.  </p><p> </p><p>“Sometimes. I usually cook my own food, because food from most restaurants are too oily or too salty. It’s not good for your cholesterol level.” Atsumu almost rolls his eyes, because that’s so like Sakusa to be so health-conscious, but doesn’t because this nugget of information feels so much more than whatever he’s been trying to wheedle out of Sakusa for the past few months.</p><p> </p><p>“I didn’t know Omi-omi could cook!” he exclaims. He knows it’s not a dream then, because Sakusa (extraordinarily) colours, a light pink spreading from the top of his nose to his cheeks. Life is unfair.</p><p> </p><p>“Just the basic dishes. I doubt I’m as good as your brother.” Atsumu is surprised at that, because he didn’t think Sakusa bothered to listen to the little tidbits of gossip flying around the locker room. Sakusa must catch that, because he makes an expression that’s not quite his smirk. Atsumu learns then that Sakusa doesn’t smile with his teeth, just the corners of his mouth tilting upwards. <em>Make that five expressions</em>. He’s a blessed man.</p><p> </p><p>“Even I know of Onigiri Miya. And I think he has a brother who plays volleyball, but I’ve never heard of him.” After Atsumu gets over the shock that comes from Sakusa Kiyoomi teasing him, not in his usual derisive way nonetheless, he finds it in himself to retort “Shut yer mouth, Omi-omi! I’ll have ya know the doctor told my mom I nearly strangled ‘Samu in the womb.”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa informs him that it’s not really something one would brag about, but Atsumu counts the night as a win, because even though things don’t quite return to normal afterwards (Atsumu still trips over the threshold on his way out) he’s oddly okay with that, too. The universe is always shifting on its axis and new solar systems are forming all the time, so Atsumu thinks he can take this change. </p><p> </p><p>When they part ways at a junction, Sakusa holding his hand up in farewell, Atsumu knows he’ll sleep easy, at least for tonight.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>He calls his brother a month later, at three in the morning.</p><p> </p><p>“I’m in deep shit,” he says. It’s a testament to the power of twin-telepathy that Osamu doesn’t have to ask him to elaborate, Atsumu likes to think. He doesn’t want to entertain the alternative, terrifying notion that maybe his emotions are just written out plain on his face for everyone to see, because that means that Sakusa, too, knows that Atsumu-</p><p> </p><p>“So, you finally get it,” Osamu says.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu lets his head fall against the headboard. “What the fuck do I do?”</p><p> </p><p>Things don’t go back to the way they were with him and Sakusa. They still play like they always do, neither of them holding anything back when it came to asking things of each other, and pushing each other to their limits and then some. They still bicker about inconsequential shit too, which is enough of a back-to-business for the team to stop bringing it up to Atsumu (no one quite dares to do that with Sakusa). But they also hang out now, after practice and once or twice during the weekends when Sakusa’s schedule isn’t taken up by some photoshoot or another.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu even manages to score himself a visit to Sakusa’s apartment, once, because Sakusa had said he was tired of eating out. “Come over,” Atsumu had blurted. “I’ll cook for you.”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa had given Atsumu a measuring look, and Atsumu was reminded of his dirty laundry piled in the corner of his apartment. “You come to mine,” he said, and Atsumu only really believed it wasn’t a dream when he was actually stepping into Sakusa’s pristine apartment, which half of the team doesn’t believe even exists. “I feel like Sakusa doesn’t have a house, but like one of those charging pods for robots, then he comes out in the morning for practice,” Barnes had said once. But Atsumu actually got past the threshold, and mutely followed Sakusa around to wash his hands and stood stock still as Sakusa sprayed disinfectant all over him. And Atsumu actually sat down on Sakusa Kiyoomi’s sofa (he actually owns quite a bit of furniture, which must collect dust, but Atsumu literally doesn’t find any) and ate udon Sakusa Kiyoomi made while he watched a shitty movie with Sakusa Kiyoomi. He actually smacked himself twice and pinched himself three more times after he bids Sakusa goodnight at his doorstep, because, what the hell. Atsumu doesn’t receive gifts from the universe. There has to be a catch somewhere.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu doesn’t stop functioning anymore when he runs into one of Sakusa’s ads, but his chest still tightens, before he smiles and stops to pose for a selfie to send to the Black Jackals’ chat. Sakusa replies every time, with some deadpan remark that leaves Atsumu smiling at his phone long after the screen has gone blank.</p><p> </p><p>He still dreams of Sakusa sometimes, too, but the dreams aren’t unsettling or disturbing anymore. In fact, he spends most nights unable to sleep, trying to make patterns out of the shapes cast on his walls by the street lamps outside and trying to make even more patterns out of the whirlpool of thoughts and images in his mind. Thoughts like the mundane things he’s picked up over the weeks, like how Sakusa shops at cruelty-free stores and carries a travel mug and tote bag everywhere just in case because he doesn’t want to use disposable items. He learns that Sakusa majored in biochemistry at university, but hated it because his classmates didn’t clean up after themselves at lab sessions. He picks up habits from Sakusa too, unconsciously. He doesn’t bring disinfectant around or anything, because Atsumu isn’t that far gone, but he does wash his hands or sanitise them before eating, and if he buys antibacterial soap and hand wash for his apartment- well, nobody needs to know.</p><p> </p><p>“I don’t think there’s anything you should do about it, exactly,” Osamu’s voice is pretty thoughtful for someone who was woken up thirty seconds ago. “I think you just have to go with it.”</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Of course, karma wrestles any semblance of control from Atsumu’s hands, as usual. He isn’t entirely surprised when his palm hits the ball at the wrong angle when he’s serving one day at practice and the ball nails Sakusa right in the face at full speed.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa falls, and Atsumu’s already surging forward when he hits the ground. His hand goes up to clutch at his nose, and Atsumu sees a thin stream of blood.</p><p> </p><p>“Fuck.” Atsumu ducks under the net, and the team is already gathering around where Sakusa is sitting on the floor. “I’m so fucking sorry, Omi-”</p><p> </p><p>“Damn, Atsumu, I know you guys fight, but this is some next level shit,” Inunaki says. Atsumu can’t reply, but he can’t move to bend down to check on Sakusa either, so he stands there, rooted to the ground as Coach Foster checks out Sakusa’s injury.</p><p> </p><p>“Looks like there’s just going to be a hell of a bruise, but you should still get it checked out just in case. Can someone go with him, in case he gets a concussion or something-”</p><p> </p><p>Despite Sakusa’s protests, Atsumu’s already volunteering. “’S my fault, anyway,” he says. “I should be the one to accompany Omi.” He knows Sakusa wouldn’t want him to support him to his feet, but he waits with a hand hovering a graceful distance from his back, just in case, all the way back to the locker room.</p><p> </p><p>Which is how Atsumu ends up in the emergency room next to (read: one seat away from) Sakusa, who’s clutching a blood-stained towel to his nose. Atsumu had been silent the whole way here, not quite knowing what to say. He’s already said I’m sorry, since he knows Sakusa hates people who waste their words by repeating things over, and he can’t ask if he’s okay, because Sakusa hates when people state the obvious.</p><p> </p><p>“Is it still bleeding?” Atsumu ventures.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa gingerly removed the towel from his nose. “Not really.” He grimaces, and Atsumu discovers that Sakusa hates the sight of blood, and feels guilt rise up to turn the tip of his ears red again.</p><p> </p><p>“Does it hurt a lot?”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa looks at him properly then. “Don’t fuss over me,” he says, somehow managing to look authoritative even with a bloody towel on his face. “You know I don’t like that.”</p><p> </p><p>“But I’m really, really sorry, Omi,” the words rush out of him. “I know ya don’t like when people repeat things, but I really didn’t mean for this. I didn’t mean for any of this, y’know. Everythin’. I’m really sorry. Oh my god, now I’ve said it three times. Do ya hate me? Ya probably do. S’ okay, I swear I’ll stay away from you from now on-”</p><p> </p><p>“Atsumu.” Sakusa cuts him off. He stops immediately, skidding to a halt like a car on an icy road. He waits with bated breath.</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa looks unnerved, and Atsumu can’t help but feel, shamefully, a little gratified. “Don’t freak out on me, Atsumu.” He used Atsumu’s given name for the second time ever. “I didn’t mean for it- this,” he gestures a little helplessly with his hand, and Atsumu’s cheeks warm up because Sakusa- marble statue-Kiyoomi is flustered, and Atsumu did <em>that</em>, “to happen either.”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh,” Atsumu says, then, “<em>oh</em>.”</p><p> </p><p>Sakusa’s looking anywhere but him now, studying the tile at Atsumu’s feet intensely. Atsumu hopes he doesn’t notice that Atsumu’s shoes are a little stained with mud, because he thinks then he’ll lose whatever little chance he had with this guy altogether, so he carefully takes a bottle of hand sanitizer out of his bag. He feels Sakusa’s eyes fasten on it- it’s a new bottle he was intending to whip out on their next dinner (date? Can he even call them dates) as some new weird way Atsumu came up with to try and get Sakusa to do his smile again- as Atsumu carefully rubs it over his hands, and then shifts his hands forward so Sakusa’s hands are in his.</p><p> </p><p>Miraculously, Sakusa doesn’t pull away. “Do you want to go out for dinner with me after this, Omi?”</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu doesn’t say “date me” or something like that, because he knows some things are more delicate and real when left unsaid in the air between them, knows they’ll be bastardised when they’re put into flimsy things like words. He knows Sakusa likes efficiency and only saying things that needs to be said, which is why he also doesn’t need to tell Sakusa plainly that he likes him when they both already know that Atsumu taking the time to learn the edges and plains of Sakusa’s being and gently shaping his life around his is already the loudest declaration of love he can make. Sakusa also doesn’t say he likes Atsumu too, because Sakusa’s already let Atsumu into his space and his life without cleaning up after his every step. No, he doesn’t just let Atsumu into his space, he makes room for him there, and makes it comfortable for him to stay.</p><p> </p><p>This realization doesn’t crash down on Atsumu but settles around his shoulders gently, like a blanket. Sakusa knows this too, so he only pulls his lips upwards into a smile, and tells him about a new katsu-don place he thinks Atsumu will like.</p><p> </p><p>-</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu dreams about Kiyoomi again.</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi’s standing in the middle of a field of white flowers- he thinks they are daisies- holding a wreath that looks like it’s made out of vines twisted together. “I made this for you,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>The wreath is a little misshapen, and there are some twigs sticking out the back. One of the twigs still has a leaf attached to it. He thinks about how Kiyoomi must have had to pick the vines from the ground to make this, because Kiyoomi doesn’t like hurting living things, even plants that can’t talk, and his heart skips a beat.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu wades his way through the field of flowers, which part for him at his touch. He takes the wreath from Kiyoomi, and flowers bloom. “I love it,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>“What do you love?” Kiyoomi asks him. Atsumu blinks his eyes open, and sees Kiyoomi propping his head up with his hand on his pillow, looking at Atsumu with those dark eyes, turning a warm brown in the morning light.</p><p> </p><p>Atsumu shifts on his pillow to face him fully. “I dreamt of you again,” he says.</p><p> </p><p>He blinks as the room shifts into focus and the edges of Kiyoomi’s hair turns gold. “Oh?”</p><p> </p><p>“You modelled for a new hand sanitizer line,” Atsumu says. “It was hot. I’d buy every single bottle.”</p><p> </p><p>Kiyoomi laughs, a startling sound in the quiet morning. He saves his laughs for rare occasions and just for Atsumu, so Atsumu smiles too, and leans in for a kiss.</p><p> </p><p>And even though he hasn’t brushed his teeth, Kiyoomi kisses back, so Atsumu knows he loves him, too.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my very first fic (on AO3 anyway) and uni (fresh hell of law school) starts in two days for me but I had to get this out of my system, before I actually combust. Also, the title is from the Hebrew Bible but I first read it in Cassandra Clare's Mortal Instruments series (PSA that I have no actual first hand experience with the Bible itself), with the original Latin being "mene mene tekel upharsin". There are many interpretations to this phrase, which you can read up online! This work was kinda inspired by put a light on by seabear (an iwaoi fic) and also by Only Need The Light When It's Burning Low by tookumade (a matsumaki fic) and both made me cry like a baby at 3 in the morning at some point in my life. ALSO (last also I promise) this was meant to be more lighthearted and fun, but I started listening to Lost Stars halfway and this happened instead. Let me know what you think and (maybe) I'll write something else soon :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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